Alone and far from home
by TerrifyingThings
Summary: Johnlock. Sherlock and John have a bit of a domestic.
1. Chapter 1

"Oh god, th-that's it, don't stop, John."

Sherlock was moaning so loudly, that John was sure Mrs. Hudson could hear. She would be smirking at them all week, for fuck's sake. She'd torment them with happy smiles and suggestive winks and John would have to leave the room every time he hears her coming up the stairs.

"As you wish, darling." John had moaned in Sherlock's ear, causing the younger man to whimper, John had moved down to bite at Sherlock's neck, leaving dark bruises that everyone at Scotland Yard would notice tomorrow. Last time someone noticed a hickey on Sherlock, it was Mycroft and he had nearly fainted.

"I-I'm going to… I'm…" Sherlock urged him to go faster, frantically grabbing at John's backside. John obliged, going back to his love's ear and whispering quietly.

"Do it, Sherlock. You brilliantly wonderful man, come for me." Sherlock had screamed out his release, waking the entirety of London. He shot his load all over his stomach and John wasn't far behind, spilling his cum inside of Sherlock.

They both laid there, side by side, willing their breathing to go back to normal and their hearts to stop beating so fast. Sherlock gasped and his eyes lit up. That's the answer! He's solved it!

"Vanessa." And Sherlock swears to this day that he hadn't meant to say the name so breathlessly. He had just been fucked into oblivion and you can't really blame him for sounding so shattered, eh?

John sat up and stared at him as if he's grown two heads, his mouth was opening and closing like he wanted to say something, but he didn't quite know what.

"Who… _Vanessa_?" John's face went from confused to absolutely livid in exactly four seconds. Sherlock's hand went up and smacked his own forehead. _Stupid_, _stupid_. He had realized the error as soon as that woman's name left his mouth.

"We… We just shagged, you still have my come dripping from you, and you…_say_ _Vanessa_?" Sherlock would've preferred if John's face had stayed livid, but it had changed into a look of sorrow. He couldn't form words that he needed to say to John, his mind palace was an absolute disaster. What had he done? He hadn't meant to…

John dragged himself from their bed, got dressed, and left without another word. Sherlock sat there staring at the slammed door, he couldn't move, couldn't speak. John had instantly jumped to a terrible conclusion and Sherlock couldn't even get his legs to work properly to chase after him. _Stupid_.

**Ok, sooo here this is. I tried, honestly. **

**I don't own Sherlock. **


	2. Chapter 2

There was no doubt in his mind that John was avoiding him now. Sherlock knew John hadn't even been to their flat for three days, he was staying with Lestrade. It made Sherlock unbelievably jealous to think that his lover was staying at someone's house.

They had a case. Sherlock half expected John not to even show up, but was surprised to see him standing next to Mycroft of all people. Why did his brother have to know every bit of his business, anyways?

He couldn't hear what they were saying, could barely tell that they were whispering quietly. The only clue that he had was the body language and he knew in an instant that they were talking about him.

"John, it was a misunderstanding, I'm sure of it."

"That isn't the point; he said a name that wasn't mine, Mycroft. Even if it was about a bloody case, he shouldn't have even been thinking of it at the time."

Mycroft inhaled a lungful of air and exhaled slowly. John and Sherlock were both so very stubborn.

"He's not the same without you; quite miserable, actually. I think you should talk about it. That's all I'll say on the matter."

With that said, they dropped the conversation as Sherlock steadily made his way over to them. Mycroft took one look at his brother's approaching form and nodded to him, but motioned his head towards John as if to say 'Stop being an idiot and apologize' without any words. Mycroft excused himself after that with the excuse of needing to sort out a war.

"H-Hi."

John nodded his head once as a greeting, looking at the crime scene around him. Sherlock hadn't even glanced at the wreckage of blood and bodies; he only had eyes for John.

"Vanessa was the killer, John. I… It just popped into my head at the wrong moment."

John rubbed his temple, willing the headache that had been building up since Lestrade had begged him to come to the crime scene and talk to Sherlock. They hadn't been making very compatible flatmates.

"No shit, Sherlock."

John let out a sigh and knew then and there that this was going to end with forgiveness. He knew that Sherlock couldn't just turn his brilliant brain off.

"I'm sorry. Just, _please_ come home. I'm a mess without you, you know that."

Sherlock solved the case in record timing and didn't stop to rub it in anyone's face. He was too focused on getting John's things from Lestrade's and putting them back where they belonged.

Lestrade had been giving him grateful glances all night. Apparently the only person who would want to be John's flatmate is Sherlock Holmes and the only person who could be patient enough to want to be Sherlock's flatmate is John Watson.


End file.
